


Starting in the Dark

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Smut, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac Lahey is the new kid in school . . . Again. But when a school shooting brings him into Scott McCall's personal space, they share a little more than the same air. But soon Scott starts to realize where all of Isaac's bruises are coming from, and enlists his pack to help him set Isaac's home-life straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles Stilinski casually tossed his lacrosse bag into his best friend’s face.

“Hey!” Scott McCall yelped, pushing it onto the floor and shooting a glare in his direction. “What was that for?”

“You were staring at . . . That again.” Without even looking, Stiles fluttered a hand in the direction of Danny Malhealani’s rock-hard abs. With a sigh, Scott looked away. 

“Just because you just found your true sexuality,” Stiles whispered, sitting down on the locker room bench, “doesn’t mean you can just go drooling at every attractive guy.” 

“Why not?” Scott huffed, starting to put on his pads. “Don’t you?”

Stiles was also gay (was there anyone in Beacon Hills who wasn’t?), but was less open about it then Scott. But they were still best friends, even after their short fling in June. After their first kiss, they realized how awful it was, and slipped right back into being friends without ruining their relationship. Very few people could pull that off.

“No, because I’m not stupid.”

“Neither am I!”

“You wanna say that with a straight face?” Scott slapped Stiles’s upside the head and tried not to smile.

“Alright boys, gather round. Danny, put your shirt on.” Coach Finstock took up his position beside his office as everyone filtered to surround him. “I have someone to introduce to you.”

In all the books Scott had read, when people experienced love at first sight their heart stopped and they couldn’t breathe. But when Scott caught sight of the stunning boy standing next to his lacrosse coach, he _couldn’t stop_ breathing. Oxygen rushed to his brain, and he tried to slow his racing heart. It wasn’t the over-6-foot frame, or the porcelain hue of his creamy pale skin. It wasn’t even the dusty brown curls surrounding his somber face. It was his _eyes._ Stormy gray irises only made brief trips up from the floor to meet the gazes of the lacrosse team, and his eyelashes were long enough to cast shadows on his cheeks. It was only after taking all this in that Scott noticed the ugly bruise that circled his left eye.

“Everyone, this is Isaac Laher.”

The boy muttered something in the coach’s ear.

“Lahey, same thing. Anyways, Isaac here is going to join the lacrosse team, so don’t be assholes.” 

Coach Finstock smiled thinly, clapped Isaac on the shoulder, and retreated back into his office. For a few tense moments, everyone just stared at him, but soon they fell back into their normal conversations. 

“Whoa, Scott. You okay there buddy?” Stiles waved a hand in front of Scott’s face.

“Ohmygodhessobeautiful,” he said, finally exhaling all the air in his lungs. Stiles rolled his eyes and slapped a lacrosse stick into Scott’s hands.

“Wake up, lover wolf. We’ve got practice.”

†

It turned out that Isaac Lahey was everywhere. They shared five out of seven classes, and locked up his rickety old bike next to Scott’s motorbike. But, in the course of the next three days, they barely said a word to each other. Every time Scott tried to make a witty remark, he started talking gibberish until Isaac just stared at him with a half-and-half mix of amused and confused in those amazing eyes. 

Then everything changed when the gunfire started.

School had started like normal, but during third period (biology), as Scott was admiring the back of Isaac’s head, there came the sound of breaking glass a few hallways over, and screaming. Immediately, Scott leaped to his feet, and followed half of his class out into the hallway.

“Everyone!” Their teacher shouted. “Back to the classroom!” 

Before anyone could move, a shout came from the end of the hallway.

“Run for your lives!” 

Gunfire followed this statement, and bullets speared the hallway. Everyone in the hallway started running towards the exits, but Scott had gotten an odd tickling in his stomach. The scent of gunpowder told him that the shooters were in the next hallway, but they wouldn’t be for long. The tickling continued. _Isaac._ He held his ground against the flow of students, and he tried to desperately see over their heads. Finally, he caught sight of the striped sweater Isaac had been wearing. The teenager was curled in the corner behind the water fountain, holding his ears and rocking back and first. Scott quickly fought his way to him, but he realized there was no time to reach the exits. The shooters were at the end of the next hallway, and rapidly closing in on theirs.

“Isaac.” His head shot up at the voice, and he stared at Scott in blank shock and terror. “Isaac, come here.” 

Scott grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Before he could protest, Scott had pulled them back into the empty classroom. He made for the closet in the back, but Isaac yelped and dug his heels in.

“I-I-I can’t go in there,” he sobbed, backing up. 

“Why not? Isaac, if we don’t go in there, we’ll die!” 

“Scott . . . I’m clau-claustrophobic.” There was such desperation in his face, that Scott knew there was more to the story than just a simple phobia. Shots ricocheted in the corridor and broke the glass in the classroom door. Both boys ducked, and Scott held out his hand.

“Please. Isaac. I’ll keep you safe.”

With a trembling chin, Isaac slowly took his fingers and allowed himself to be led into the closet. The door closed with a resounding click, and they were plunged into darkness. A small whimper escaped Isaac’s lips, and his nails dug into Scott’s arm. After just a few seconds his werewolf infrared kicked in, and he saw Isaac in an eerie red tinge. He could also smell the panic rolling off of him in cold waves. 

“Scott,” he whispered raspily. “I can’t do this I have to get out it’s too hot in here I can’t Scott I just can’t—” His voice broke and Scott took a chance. He wrapped his arms around Isaac. He was shaking so violently it jerked Scott to the bone, and he worried about him biting his tongue.

“Breathe.” At Scott’s command, Isaac drew in a ragged breath, but when he tried to let it go, it came out in a strangled cry. Scott clapped a hand over his mouth and listened for any noises from outside. The gunfire had stopped, but sounds of crashing came from the classroom behind them. Abruptly, all noises stopped, and Scott strained to hear something . . . Anything. There came the soft click of a cartridge, and Scott pushed Isaac to the dusty floor. No sooner than they had hit the ground, bullets split the air above them. Scott tightened his grip on the boy beneath him, and shifted his body so that he was completely covering him. Finally, after a tense two minutes, the gunfire died away.

“Don’t . . . Make . . . A sound,” Scott hissed. Isaac nodded, and they both warily sat up. 

“So-Sorry,” gulped Isaac, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

Scott shushed him gently, and pulled the boy onto his lap. Though he was much taller, Isaac tucked his head under Scott’s chin; tickling his face with his curls. Wondering how Stiles would respond if he could see him now, Scott traced slow circles on Isaac’s back to try and calm his racing heart. 

Out of the silence in the classroom came the sudden clamor of a desk being thrown across the room. Isaac flinched downwards, and Scott slid a hand over the shaking boy’s mouth. They couldn’t risk being discovered now. Silently, as gunfire shattered the classroom windows, Scott reached up and wrapped his free hand around the door handle. As soon as he had a solid grip, the door was violently yanked from the other side. The tug-of-war continued for a few seconds, but the mysterious person on the other side finally contended themselves that the door was solidly locked.

Tightening his lips inside Scott’s warm palm, Isaac twisted his fingers into the werewolf’s tee-shirt and tried to stem the flow of tears. Shouts of rage echoed in the tight space, and Isaac crumpled into himself. Scott started putting the pieces together in his head . . . Claustrophobia, the wicked black eye, flinching away from sudden or loud noises . . . 

“This one’s empty,” came a voice from right outside the closet, and Scott detected the sounds of three pairs of footsteps leaving the room. Slowly, in case they decided to return, he loosened his grip on Isaac, who immediately lunged for the door. Scott, moving faster than any regular person could, leaped to his feet and caught Isaac around the waist.

“Not yet,” he hissed, and the sobbing human fell limp in his arms.

“I can’t breathe,” Isaac gasped, and Scott saw with a startling clarity that Isaac’s pupils were dilated far past normal, and his lips were tinged blue. He was having a panic attack.

“Just, uh . . . hold your breath.” Desperately, fear in his eyes, Isaac struggled to keep a breath in his lungs. But his air continued flowing in jerky little patterns. He sank to his knees, and Scott followed him down. 

_How do I calm him down?? I was never taught this!_ Thoughts were skittering around in Scott’s head too fast to grab a hold of any single thread. Without taking time to think about it, he planted his lips on Isaac’s. Even though they were cold as ice, electricity sparked along their skin, and Isaac’s hand wandered up to the back of his neck. Then suddenly there was space in between them, and Isaac was staring at Scott with wide eyes.

“What was that for?” he asked breathlessly.

“I . . . I uh, you had to hold your breath. When we uh . . . You didn’t breathe.” 

Isaac gulped. “That’s really sm-smart.”

“Thanks.” Scott grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s do it again sometime. But right now, we’ve gotta get out of here.” 

They softly pushed open the door, and then—seeing as the room was empty—ran towards the broken windows. Glass shards surrounded the frames, and Scott sighed.

“I’ll go first, then help you over. Okay?”

Isaac nodded, and watched as Scott lifted himself gingerly over the side. Just as he was dropping to the ground, glass bit deeply into his palm, splattering blood across the bushes. Isaac gasped, and Scott tried desperately to hide the wound from him. In just a few seconds it would be healed entirely. Before he could blow it off, Isaac reached over and grabbed his hand. 

“No, no, Isaac, I’m fine,” he insisted. Even as they watched, the skin closed and sealed over. It looked like nothing had even happened. Isaac turned his disbelieving gaze up to Scott.

“But it was just . . . I saw it . . .”

“I’ll explain later.” Without waiting for a reply, he reached inside and lifted Isaac through and to the ground. Blue and white lights flashed as they sprinted towards the police-filled parking lot. Stiles stood with his father, looking stressed until he caught sight of the two boys.

“Scott! Isaac!” They met in the middle, and Isaac was carted off by paramedics. He was shaking so hard no one could get a word out of him, and he kept shooting pleading glances at Scott.

_Later,_ he mouthed, which seemed to satisfy him for the moment.

“What happened?” Officer Stilinski asked, and Scott regaled the entire experience—minus the kiss, of course.

“What happened?” Stiles asked him a bit later, staring at Scott with knowing eyes. 

“Well let’s just say I got Isaac out of the closet, alright?”

When the paramedics came over to check on them, Scott and Stiles were laughing so hard they were offered emergency oxygen.


	2. Chapter 2

Nights in Beacon Hills were often cold, and seeing as it was the end of November, Scott was worried about finding an Isaacicle on his front lawn the next morning. So when long fingers tapped against his window, he threw it open with hardly a glance at who was outside. Isaac tumbled in, a tangle of limbs.

“Gosh it’s cold out there—” Scott planted his lips on Isaac’s frozen mouth before the boy could finish his sentence. Winter chill forgotten, he pushed Scott back onto his bed without breaking mouth contact. 

Isaac and Scott, of course, had maintained the relationship built in the school closet a week ago, and it had blossomed into something more. Without even realizing it, they fell into a life together as if they had been dating for months. After being pestered for a few days, Scott had relented his werewolf tale to Isaac, who had been remarkably calm about the whole thing. And now they were just regular boyfriends. 

“I missed you,” he mumbled around Scott’s full lips. In answer, Scott fingered the sensitive skin around Isaac’s waistband, and slipped his hands under his shirt. As his fingers prodded against the skin, he hit a rough patch and Isaac flinched away.

“What is it?” 

“I-It’s nothing, really. You have cold fi-fingers, that’s all.” Isaac refused to meet his eyes.

“Isaac. You stutter when you lie.” Before he could protest, Scott lifted the hem of his shirt. Purplish clouds hovered under the skin in the massive bruise spanning his entire left side. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “What the hell happened?”

“No-Nothing, like I told you . . . I fell down the stairs.” 

Scott stared him down mercilessly, until Isaac finally broke down. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” he sobbed, hiding his face in his jacket sleeves. “He’ll kill me.”

Calmly, trying to figure out how to help his new boyfriend, Scott took him into his arms, much like they had a week ago in that closet in the dark. He figured that getting as much information as possible would be a first.

“When did your dad start beating you?” 

Isaac sniffled and curled in closer to Scott’s chest. “When my mom died. I was ten. I think maybe it was an accident at first, but then, when it started giving him power, he just couldn’t stop.”

“What does he do?”

“He . . .” Isaac took a deep breath. “He throws things at my head. Like glasses and dishes. Or books. And he hits me with whatever is closest. Belts, rolling pins, wrenches—” Sobs broke through his words, and Scott stroked his curls, waiting for him to start again.

“And there’s a freezer,” he continued, his voice so filled with terror it filled Scott with rage. “In the basement, there’s a freezer that he locks me in whenever I talk back. For hours and hours without food or light, and sometimes he leaves me in there all night and then expects me to go to school the next day like nothing ever happened.”

“Jesus,” Scott muttered into the boys hair. “I’m so sorry. We’ll find a way to fix this.”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

Those words marked the precise moment when Scott’s heart broke. There was no way he was letting this go.

†

That night, as the final light in the Lahey residence blinked off, Scott stalked towards the average looking home with only one plan in mind: scare the shit out of Mr. Lahey. It shouldn’t be too hard to do, right?

All the doors were locked, but there was no alarm system for the house, so he slipped a window open and dropped into an empty hallway. On his way to find the stairs, one door loomed out at him. Scents of must and age blew under the crack, and he knew that must be the basement. Against his better judgment, he slid down the rickety old stairs, and a few yards back, against a side wall, was the freezer. It must’ve been less than six feet long, and only four feet high. When he lifted the lid, gouges on the inside surface told of scratching finger nails and countless panic attacks in this tiny box. He pictured Isaac, cramped and screaming, padlocked inside with no escape. 

Rage flowed through his veins with wild abandoned, and he flew silently up the stairs. Isaac’s sweet scent came through one door, and over-used cologne led him straight to his father’s room. His fangs were already in place, and he knew his eyes were burning with a golden light. He slammed the door open and descended on the bed. Mr. Lahey, eyes wide with fear, shrieked at the sight of Scott’s visage.

“You have been bad, Lahey,” the werewolf growled, pinning the man to his bed. “I have heard terrible things about what you do to your son.”

“I’m sorry,” he blubbered pathetically, “I didn’t mean any harm—”

_”THEN STOP,”_ Scott roared in his face, and leapt through the window glass before Isaac was even out of bed. 

†

At six the next morning, Scott got a phone call. Blindly flailing for his cell, he knocked over a glass of water and fell out of bed.

“Hello? Who is it?” He slurred, trying to blink sleep out of his eyes. 

“It’s me.” _Isaac._

Well he was awake now. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“It’s my dad . . . He’s dead.”

In half an hour, Scott was at the hospital to pick Isaac up. The whole ride there was spent worrying if he had given the man a heart attack, but when Isaac explained the scenario, it was obvious Scott had little to no involvement. He took the shaken boy to a nearby coffee shop, figuring they had enough time before class started.

“It was like something had ripped him apart from the inside out.” He told Scott, a far-away look in his eyes. “At first it sounded like someone was in his room, but when I got there, the window was broken and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I went back to bed . . . And then there was this awful ripping sound and he was—” 

Closing his eyes against the memories of his broken and bloody father, Isaac roughly drew his sweatshirt sleeve across his eyes. “Why am I even crying?” He laughed hopelessly. “I hated him more than anything.”

“Because he was your dad,” Scott answered, kissing him on the forehead. “Your family.” 

Suddenly Isaac looked sick. “Oh no . . . I don’t have any other family. No grandparents or anything. Where am I going to stay? Scott, where am I going to go?”

There was no hesitation. “My house of course. I mean, we’ll have to check with my mom and stuff, but I’m sure—”

His voice was muffled by Isaac’s shoulder as the boy threw his arms around him. 

“You’re the best, Scott,” he mumbled. Heat crept up the werewolf’s cheeks, and he patted Isaac’s back.

“I know.”

†

After school that day (Isaac survived, of course), the boys headed back to Scott’s house. It seemed empty.

“Mom?”

“In the living room,” came the answer. Isaac trailed behind his friend to the den, where Melissa McCall was sorting through some paperwork. “Hey Scott,” she smiled. “How was school?” Then she caught sight of Isaac, and her face fell. Obviously she had heard the news. She stood up and mother’s instinct made her give a warm hug.

“I’m so sorry, Isaac.”

“It’s fine, really. But thank you.” She pulled away with a strange look in her eyes, but quickly grinned it away.

“Mom? Can Isaac stay here for a while?”

“Of course. Take as long as you need.” An alarm in the kitchen went off, and Melissa followed it to the source. “Hope you boys like Mexican.”

“Oh man, I love Mexican,” Isaac laughed as Scott grabbed his hand and tugged him upstairs. Even before they were to his room he was already putting his hands all over Isaac. “Someone’s horny,” he muttered sarcastically, but slipped off his shirt and kicked the door closed.

Almost immediately their lips connected and Isaac found himself sitting on Scott’s desk with his legs around Scott’s hips. The werewolf’s skin was burning with heat against Isaac’s bare chest, and a small groan pushed out between his lips. Suddenly his bottom was no longer against anything, as Scott had lifted him clear into the air. Sometimes, forgetting his supernatural abilities, Isaac’s breath was taken away by Scott’s prowess (for lack of a better word). In this moment, his passion elevated. His bare back was then against Scott’s bed sheets.

“Isn’t your mom right downstairs?” Isaac asked breathlessly. Scott raised himself to his knees where he straddled the teen. 

“Thick walls?”

Isaac laughed loudly. “Good enough for me.” With his long fingers, he snagged the back of Scott’s neck and pulled him back down. 

†

“Boys! Dinner!” Melissa swirled the cheese on the enchiladas and wondered why their feet weren’t pounding on the stairs.

“Coming!” came the dim response from upstairs, and she faintly heard Isaac laughing. 

_Not going to question it,_ she thought to herself, chuckling. Finally came the clamor down the hallway, and they burst into the kitchen giggling and flushed like a couple of teenager girls. She simply raised an eyebrow at Isaac’s mussed curls and Scott’s rumpled shirt. _Now I’m definitely not going to ask._

“Hungry?” She asked, trying to take her mind off the suspicions running through her head.

“Starving,” Isaac groaned, earning him a smack from Scott.

Shaking her head, she handed them each a tortilla-laden plate.

_This is going to be an interesting few months._


End file.
